Buried
by AJzkitten69
Summary: While Sylar recovers his identity, Claire works on accepting her inevitable future with him, while they try to deal with each other and her family. Spoilers through An Invisible Thread.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of this, and this is not for profit.

**Author's Note:** Okay, I have no idea how old Claire is at this point of the show. So I went with this, since I can't remember any hard evidence to the contrary. Oh, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to the special hell for being so obsessed with this pairing, but hey, that's something I've accepted by now.

Buried

Chapter One

In truth, Claire hadn't known, not really, until the night of her 18th birthday. There had been hints, sure, but she had no idea what they meant. She hadn't known she should be looking for bits of Sylar buried inside her biological father.

After all, wasn't he supposed to be dead? She'd watched him burn that day. She'd wanted to see him dead for so long; when the moment finally arrived, it was anticlimactic. She'd felt nothing of the joy she thought she would feel at his passing, nor did she feel any sense of triumph over the enemy. All she'd felt was a dull sense of loneliness, a feeling which grew in the following weeks.

Like it or not, his words had taken root in her mind and she couldn't seem to escape his logic, twisted though it was. She hated him. While he was alive, she hated him with every regenerative cell in her freakshow of a body. But eternity was a long time to be alone, and after he was dead, she was left to look over the eons in her future and wonder if, even after everything, Sylar might have been able to mean something to her. Anything. If she would have stopped hating him enough to make him simply an acquaintance, it would have been better than the nothing she was facing now.

So, with the full belief that Sylar was finally dead, she didn't notice the little changes in Nathan, the hints that something was off. Until he gave her the watch.

On the night of her 18th birthday, both of her families had gathered for a nice dinner. Such a momentous event in any girl's life was, in truth, dull by comparison to everything else she'd been through, but it was one of the few things in the world that could possibly pull all of these people together to one place at the same time. Her adopted family was there: Noah, Sandra, and Lyle. She still considered them more family than those she was related to biologically, except perhaps Peter, but the bio-family was there as well: Peter, of course, Nathan, and Angela.

They were going around the table, each giving her a gift in turn. Peter had been first. He'd given her a gift certificate for scuba diving lessons, to go with the tropical vacation Angela gave her next. Then Nathan had slowly slid the box across the big round table. She'd opened it carefully, making sure not to rip the holographic wrapping paper, and then gazed at the beautiful antique watch he'd given her.

Despite the vacation she'd already received, she couldn't stop herself from saying, "Wow. This must have cost a fortune. It's beautiful." She studied it as much as she could without removing it from its box. It looked so delicate. But then, so did she.

"Barely cost a thing," Nathan corrected her with a smile. "I found it broken. But I took a chance on it anyway. I've been kind of good at repairing those sorts of things lately. Talent I never knew I had, I guess. Fun hobby, though."

Everything snapped into place for Claire in that moment, and she was sure it all would have shown on her face if she hadn't gotten so much practice with putting on a facade for almost everyone in her life, at one point or another. But while her mind raced, trying to figure out how it was possible, she smiled and told the man who looked like Nathan, "Thank you so much." She saw no trace of Sylar in his answering smile and she was suddenly sure that he was completely in the dark as to who he really was.

The rest of the night was a blur, at least as far as what was going on outside of her mind. On the surface, she accepted the rest of her gifts with grace and a big smile directed at each member of her family, but inside, she was piecing together clues. She was a smart girl, and she was able to figure things out quickly.

First, just as she was sure that Nathan didn't know he was really Sylar, she was sure that both her father and Angela were in on it. That would certainly explain why they were so twitchy lately, and neither of them had found Nathan's gift as charming as everyone else, including her, seemed to. The sense of betrayal she felt at this went beyond words. How could they tell her that the man who had tormented her for years was dead? She saw him at least once a week, and he was obviously a ticking time bomb, just waiting to turn back into her enemy. On the other hand, Peter's easy smile told her that he didn't know. That was a relief. She probably couldn't have handled his betrayal too.

Next, she went over the details, trying to figure out how this had happened. She had, after all, watched Sylar burn. And how could Sylar truly believe he was Nathan? The pieces clicked into place one after the other with barely any thought required of her. Sylar was a shapeshifter. He had to have acquired that power from someone, and that someone was probably the one who burned. He'd felt a need to be Sylar, for one reason or another, and he'd died that way. As for how Sylar thought he was Nathan, she could only think of Matt. Only he had that kind of power, to her knowledge.

By the time she was headed back to Peter's house, where she'd been staying for the past several weeks, her mind had moved on to what this meant. The loneliness she'd felt at Sylar's death was gone, replaced by some form of acceptance. Her fate was going to be grim, but it could be worse.

If Sylar ever remembered who he was, Claire knew that she would eventually cave and prove him right. Eternity spent with him would be better than eternity spent alone. Sure, she could find someone else to fall in love with, and even be happy for a time. Peter would have been ideal for her, if only they hadn't turned out to be related. But she knew that the deaths of the people she knew now would tear her soul apart...and she couldn't imagine herself purposely becoming attached to anyone else, knowing they would die of old age, if they were lucky, while she remained timeless. She knew, if she chose that path, that after the first few men she married withered and died, she'd turn to Sylar. He would do the same. He'd sealed their fates that day when he'd taken her ability, and she wondered if he'd already thought it through to the conclusion she was just coming to now: the two of them, the only immortals, needing each other despite their distaste and their history.

So she waited. She knew Nathan, the real Nathan, was dead, probably killed by Sylar, and she quietly mourned for him, while she became angrier each day at her father and grandmother. She felt guilty that her grief for him didn't seem to compare to the relief she felt that Sylar was alive. She chalked this up to the fact that she knew he would die eventually. Sylar had been a constant, psychotic and murderous, but constant. He wasn't ever supposed to die. And he hadn't.

Five weeks later, Nathan called her into his office. She'd known that he'd remembered as soon as she saw him. Though he was wearing Nathan's body, his stance and smirk were clearly Sylar's. Still, she marched straight into his office and prepared herself to face anything. She thought his rage was most likely. Who wouldn't be pissed about being shoved into the body of the person he'd just killed? She knew he'd have questions, and she hoped this time, it wouldn't be necessary to rip off the top of her head to find his answers. She was even prepared to deal with his desire, so long as he reverted to his own body. Looking like her bio-dad while hitting on her in his charming but evil manner was something she didn't think even Sylar would try.

But he simply closed and locked his office door, then stared at her. After five minutes, when Claire finally started to squirm, he sat behind his desk, leaned back in his chair, and asked, "So what did I miss?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

**Author's Note:** Wow. This is actually my very first Heroes story, and I love the response I'm getting. Just remember that reviews feed the muse. And thank you to everyone who has already reviewed.

Buried

Chapter Two

"What did you miss?" Claire repeated slowly. She needed to sit down. She plopped down into one of the chairs. "You...you don't remember? Any of it?"

"It's...unclear," Sylar admitted as he crossed the room to stand in front of Nathan's desk. "There are parts I remember. When I was closer to the surface, I can remember most of those times fairly easily. But when I was buried deep in Nathan, those memories are...let's just say elusive."

She hadn't been prepared for that, so she wasn't exactly sure how to proceed. "Can you stop being Nathan? This conversation is creepier than it needs to be, with you looking like him."

Sylar considered it for a moment, shrugged, then let his form ripple back into his own skin. It felt wonderful. He'd only figured out who he truly was a few hours before, and had yet, until this moment, to lose the guise of the politician. "There. I held up my end. Now give me some answers."

"I knew the night of my 18th birthday. Because of the watch you gave me. But I didn't know what to do about it."

"So you weren't in on it?" he asked.

"No." She shook her head. "I would have just killed you. I wouldn't have tried so desperately to keep Nathan around by doing..." She trailed off, took a deep breath, then started again. "What they did to you was wrong."

"What who did to me? I can't remember who did it." He smiled, and she recognized the grin of the predator. He was shaken and off-balance. The fact that they were having this conversation at all was proof enough of that, but he seemed to be coming back to himself slowly. "Things will go much easier for all involved if you just tell me."

Claire thought quickly. Sylar seemed like he was in a mood for vengeance. She couldn't really blame him. But, even though she was disgusted with what her grandmother and adopted father had done, she was far from willing to sacrifice them to Sylar. So she said, "I don't know anything for sure. I can only tell you the conclusions I came to and how I got there because no one has told me anything. But I'll tell you everything I think I know if you won't hurt them."

He crossed his arms and leaned back against his desk. "I'm trying to think of a reason that I would make a promise like that, but I'm coming up blank."

"Because I'm on your side!" she said, talking quickly so as not to lose his interest. "But if you kill them, I won't be anymore. You've already killed both of my biological parents. Isn't that enough, Sylar? Can't you just call it even and leave them alone?"

"Leave _them _alone?" he asked. "You're not including yourself? Interesting."

_Of course, he would pick up on that, _Claire thought. She hadn't meant to put it that way; it had been a complete slip of the tongue. She definitely hadn't planned on letting him know the thoughts her mind had been occupied with since his death, not until she'd had enough time to sort them out. But maybe it could be used as another factor to convince him not to kill her family. "I hate you," she said slowly, purposefully. She knew he would hear the qualification coming.

"Less conviction than the last time. Again, interesting. You have my attention." In truth, he was feeling less of the urge to tear her family limb from limb than he thought he rightfully should. He thought it was probably because he'd spent several months locked in Nathan's head, and Nathan loved his mother and his brother, and was distantly grateful to Claire's adopted family for raising his daughter. So long without homicidal urges...maybe they would return with his memories.

"But when I thought you were dead, I did a lot of thinking. A lot of thinking that I never wanted to do." Claire looked up and met his eyes. She tried to study him from the perspective of someone he hadn't terrorized. She did her best to detach herself from her memories and look at him simply as a woman might size up a man. He was reasonably good looking. Not pretty, like West had been, but still handsome, in that 'I can kill you with my brain' sort of way. His inner nerd didn't show anymore, but she knew his origins, and she _did _tend to be attracted to nerds. His eyebrows were more prominent than she generally preferred, but they weren't horrible. She liked the way his eyes seemed to change color with the light. Sometimes they even looked almost green. And the unkempt look had always been a favorite of hers.

"Claire?" Sylar interrupted her staring. "You were doing some thinking? Maybe about why I wouldn't want to kill the bastards who locked me up in Bio-Dad's life?"

"Yeah," she replied, trying to get back to her point. She looked down and started fiddling with her nails. She couldn't let him see her face while she said this. It was bad enough that he'd hear the heartbreak and the defeat in her voice. "I don't want to be alone forever. So...you said before that maybe we should start building bridges now. And I'm willing to try that, to see if maybe, someday, we can be...something other than immortal enemies."

Sylar was nothing short of fascinated. He'd meant what he said that day, the day he supposedly died, about the connection they shared. True, it did have the added bonus of being a wonderful tool with which to mess with Claire's head, but that didn't make it any less true. And he knew that she had also meant what she said, about how she would try to kill him for the rest of her life. But...she wasn't trying to kill him now. In fact, she didn't even seem scared, not for herself, anyway. If anything, she was scared for the family that he might still decide to massacre. "You're not scared of me anymore," he said, almost to himself.

"You don't want to kill me anymore," she responded. "What you did to me...I think it might have been the worst thing that ever happened to me. My biggest fear. When you were done, I felt like I'd been raped." Sylar flinched, but Claire continued. "But it's done. I know that the worst is over. Short of the people I love dying, which I know is inevitable, there's really nothing left to fear. I mean, there is, but the fear isn't for my benefit."

"I won't apologize for taking your ability," Sylar said hesitantly. "I don't regret it. In fact, if I were to regret any ability I stole, yours would be the last. Because you survived the process. But I am sorry for how it made you feel." He felt awkward. He was sure that this need to apologize was a side effect of Nathan. He suspected it would not be the last. He couldn't just think he was Nathan for months without the guy leaving some sort of impression on him.

"That'll have to do, I guess," she muttered, then looked at him. "Thanks for trying."

He was struck by how civil this conversation was. She'd had to have been thinking about this for a good while if she was able to be this nice. After all, if anyone had the right to hate him, it was Claire. But the way she was acting, it almost felt as if she'd missed him. "Alright, so let me get this deal straight. You'll tell me everything you know about what they did to me, and the two of us...what? Spend some time together? Go on a date? And in return, I don't kill whoever's responsible. I leave your family alone."

"Yes, we spend time together. We talk. Maybe get to know each other on a level besides villain and victim. But other than that, I think that's the gist of the deal."

Sylar thought about the offer for several minutes while Claire tried not to give any outward signs of how nervous she was. Finally, he said. "Okay. We have a deal. I won't go after those responsible, and your families, both adopted and biological, are safe from me. Even if they did this to me. You have my word on that. Now tell me who it was."

She looked up, meeting his eyes again, praying that he would keep his promise. "I think it was Angela and my dad."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

**Author's Note: **Wow, the response to this story has been really gratifying. I hate to have to tell you that I probably won't be able to keep up this pace of updating (my poor neglected readers of my _Veronica Mars _story, "Witness Protection," could tell you that much, and I've left them with some spectacularly evil cliffhangers), but I'll update as frequently as my muse and work and school allow, I promise.

Buried

Chapter Three

"Noah and Angela." Somehow, he'd seen that coming. "Of course. The two people I want to kill most in this world, and they're the ones I just swore I'd leave alone."

"Why them?" Claire asked. "Of all the people in the world, why are they your biggest targets? I mean, my dad isn't really so much with the super powers, and Angela dreams the future. Not really a power worth killing for."

"You know I kill for powers, or people who get in my way. I don't generally go on murder sprees with no reason behind them. But those two, after what they've done _before_ this...I'd kill them both without a thought, powers or no," Sylar said, his voice so full of conviction that she couldn't doubt a word.

"Why?" she asked again.

"They've mind-fucked me more times than I can count. Working separately and together. I'll tell you all about it someday," he said. "But for now, you're the one with the story to tell."

"You won't go back on your word, will you? Because it's them?" There was fear in her voice now. She didn't want to be at fault for the deaths of her family.

"Now, that wouldn't be a very good way for us to set off on our fresh start, would it?" One side of Sylar's mouth lifted in a half smile. "I made you a promise, and I will keep it. But as soon as it's prudent to drop the Nathan act, I hope you won't begrudge me getting a kick out of Angela's pain at losing her son. Again."

"I won't. She should have accepted Nathan's death when it happened. She'll have to now whether she likes it or not. And I can't blame you, at this point, for wanting to see her in pain. Honestly, I'm furious with them. You know Nathan and I were actually starting to develop some sort of father and daughter relationship? And then I find out that it wasn't him at all. It was actually the guy from my nightmares that they assured me was dead and gone, and who I actually found myself..." She cut herself off and sighed. "Sorry. The story. Like I said, I didn't realize that you weren't Nathan until my birthday. The watch."

"Yes, the watch." His eyes flickered to her wrist and he was surprised to see that she was wearing it. He reached out slowly and took her hand, pulling it closer to himself so he could study the watch. She let him, which sent a little jolt of satisfaction through him. "I remember buying it in an antique shop. It's a 1930 Bulova with manual winding, set in white gold with diamonds and emeralds. The owner had died and the heir didn't know what he had. Couldn't tell the difference between diamonds and cubic zirconium. I thought the emeralds would complement your eyes nicely. Pain in the ass to put back together too, working through Nathan like I was." He dropped her hand. "You always wear it, or is this a special occasion?"

"Always," she replied, blushing. She touched the face of the watch briefly, let her fingers skim over one of the emeralds, then looked back at him.

"Anyway, how did you decide that it was Noah and Angela who did this to me?" he asked. He stepped back to the desk again. It was only a few feet, but the distance helped. Any closer, and he'd want to discuss building bridges, and he needed to have the story before they could get to that.

"Mostly, it was the way they reacted when you gave me the watch. My dad looked angry and Angela looked scared. But I knew they couldn't have pulled it off by themselves."

"Had to have been Parkman, right?" That was only logical. "But he's not exactly a planner. No, this reeks of Angela Petrelli." Sylar started pacing in front of the desk. Claire's eyes followed him back and forth. "So here's how I imagine this worked. I killed Nathan, then went after the president. But Peter took my shapeshifting and knocked me out." He paused and looked at her. "Masterful move on his part, by the way." His pacing continued. "Then I woke up as Nathan. But if Peter doesn't know...how did that happen? Where did Peter go? How did I get to Angela and Noah?"

"Noah came down and took you to the hotel room, and then told Peter and me that we should go to look for Nathan," she replied. "By the time we got back, they'd somehow found Nathan. Except now I know that was you. And they'd killed Sylar, apparently, but wouldn't let me see the body until we burned it...which means the body they burned probably wasn't there. Hidden away somewhere, I guess."

"In Building 26," he confirmed. "But what's getting me is, why would Parkman play along? He would have known that this quick fix of theirs couldn't last forever, and he'd have guessed that revenge would be at the top of my to-do list when I inevitably resurfaced. Why would he let them fuck with me instead of just cutting off my head?"

Claire thought over the events of the last few months, of Nathan's actions since then. She hadn't thought of it this way, so she didn't immediately have an answer to his question, but the more she thought about it, the more sure she was. "They needed Nathan to fix all the damage he'd done. If Nathan was dead, there'd be no one to admit fault or call off the dogs. Or the military, in this case. No one to make sure they stopped hunting us."

He stopped pacing once again. He couldn't seem to stand still, so he ran a hand through his hair. _I really need to shower the Nathan off of me. _"So that's taken care of then? I don't need to worry about the next Emile Danko trying to take my head off? Because truthfully, Claire, as you may have noticed, people trying to kill you when you're already immortal gets a little tiresome. Tiresome enough that I would actually willingly keep up this act for the foreseeable future just to keep that particular brand of psychopath off my ass."

She leaned forward and smiled at him. The smile was small but genuine. "Yeah, well, I guess that's just one of those burdens we immortals have to face, along with trying to keep up with changing fashions and the occasional reemergence of disco music." _Am I joking with _Sylar? _Is this really happening?_ Claire thought to herself. This moment felt very surreal to her.

Neither of them mentioned the real burden: how everyone and everything they loved would all eventually turn to ash around them. She tensed, waiting for him to bring it up, but he didn't, and she was immediately grateful.

"But to answer your question, yes, it's taken care of. The world is still mostly in the dark about us, and the government is more concerned about saving face than chasing us down."

"Anything else I should know?" Sylar asked, quirking an eyebrow at her. The mood wasn't quite as playful anymore, but it was still far from dire. He'd gotten the answers he'd needed, even though he was unable to use the information for any useful action at the moment, and he wanted to move on to other subjects.

"Yeah. The president is kind of pissed at Nathan for the whole debacle. You'll probably be getting an angry phone call soon. They come in pretty regularly."

He laughed. "Thanks for the warning. Is it bad that I feel a little accomplished, that I can still enrage people even when I'm buried in a politician?"

"Nah. Oh, and your secretary sucks. She passes the call through every time, no matter what it's interrupting, just because she's so star-struck by the president. Nathan was really frustrated by her." She paused. "I did have one other question..."

"Ask and ye shall receive," Sylar said. He was feeling strangely generous, towards her at least.

"How did you figure it out? That you weren't Nathan?" Before he could answer her, she rushed on, "I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to know the truth as soon as I did, but I just didn't know how. I couldn't just walk up to Nathan and say, 'Hey, you're not really my father, you're this serial killer who, funny thing, actually killed you. Now change back so we can talk about eternity.' I didn't know how firmly rooted Nathan's identity was, and I didn't want to get myself committed. I'm sorry."

Sylar smiled at her again. "Claire, if there's anyone I _don't _blame for what happened, it's you, so there's no need to apologize." He thought about their history and added, "Not ever. As for what happened...you might actually find this amusing. I tried to fly a couple days ago and all I could do was levitate a couple feet off the ground."

"You've known for a couple days and you only just..."

"Didn't figure it out then," he interrupted her. "Nathan was still firmly in place. He just figured he was having an off day. What set me off was about three hours ago. I got a papercut. You know, one of those really horrible paper cuts that feels like you cut yourself with cardboard instead of just a piece of paper. And then it healed up, gone in a second. That's when everything rushed back." He considered his next words, then confessed, "First thing I did was call you. I was planning to continue pretending, get the information I needed that way, but when you showed up, I saw the look on your face and I knew you knew. Then I was going to go with intimidation, threats, but you marched right in here, brave as can be, and that threw me off. The only logical route I could see was to be straightforward with you. Thank you for returning the favor."

Claire couldn't stop herself from studying him again. This was a very different Sylar than the one she had known so far and, to her surprise, she liked being around him. He was honest with her. He generally made his intentions clear and didn't try to drown her in bullshit, like the rest of her family often did. He was capable of being charming and funny and even kind. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "Why don't we talk about those bridges we're supposed to be building?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine

**Author's Note: **Sorry, not as much Sylaire in this chapter (or probably the next), but I couldn't keep them talking in that office for another chapter. I was getting claustrophobic, so sorry, you'll have to wait a little longer while I bring the characters to the right place mentally. Hope you'll endure with me.

Buried

Chapter Four

Sylar's first reaction to Claire's words was an undeniable sense of accomplishment. They had made so much progress in such a short time, though he was sure it only felt so short to him because, the last time he'd been himself, she'd been determined to kill him. The months must have passed very slowly for Claire.

Unfortunately, logic intruded. Hadn't he just thought about showering the deceased politician off of himself? He was still wearing the man's cologne, and he felt like the scent might choke him. The clothes he was wearing didn't feel like him at all. If he wanted to have an open and honest conversation with Claire about their possible future, he needed to distance himself from Nathan first. The guise was useful, and he knew he would have to keep it up until he figured out what his next move would be, but not for this conversation.

"I would love to have that conversation with you, Claire, but not here, and not at this second. I have some arrangements I need to make before I'll feel..." He couldn't quite describe it, so he trailed off.

Claire didn't push the subject, but instead asked, "Arrangements like what?"

"A place to stay, some clothes, that sort of thing. I know I'll have to keep up appearances with Nathan's place for now, but I need my own space. It won't take long...I'm sure once I find a place I like, I can charm and pay my way in, but until then..." He stopped again, at a loss for words. The feeling made him uncomfortable. He was so good at understanding how things worked, but sometimes his own thoughts were more troublesome than any antique German watch.

"I understand," she said, startling him out of his reverie. "You need something to be normal, something of your old life, before you can even begin to process the new situation. Right?"

Sylar met her eyes, shocked. He hadn't thought of it that way, but once she put it into words, he realized how right it sounded. "That's...most of it, actually. The rest is that I don't want any part of Nathan on me for that talk. There are some lows that even I wouldn't sink to. Anyway, you've given me a lot to think about...and I'm sure you have your own thoughts to process. So...how about we meet up for dinner tomorrow?"

Claire nodded. "Okay. Where?"

"Wherever you want," he responded with a shrug.

He didn't have to say it for her to know that he wanted somewhere she'd never been with Nathan. She smiled. "How do you like Italian?"

After Claire left, Sylar flipped through Nathan's Rolodex – and had to snicker at the idea that the man still _had _a Rolodex – and looked for the name and number of his preferred real estate agent. When he found what he was looking for, he tore the card out and pocketed it. He sighed and let his form ripple back into that of the senator, then left the office and headed toward the nearest place he could buy clothes.

He had walked about halfway to the mall, hoping he'd find something there, when he ran into someone. He hadn't been paying attention. He'd been deep in thought, alternating between how the conversation with Claire might go and what type of place he'd like to live in.

Sylar looked down into the surprised eyes of Hiro Nakamura. "Flying Man!" he whispered. Apparently, being hunted had taught Hiro some form of subtlety, though the enthusiasm in his voice had not yet been dampened.

"Hiro...what are you doing in DC?" _Whoops._ Had he had dealings with Hiro as Nathan? Something flickered at the edge of his consciousness, and he thought he probably should have known the answer to the question he'd just asked.

"I'm still seeing Dr. Suresh, so he can learn what is wrong with my powers. I still cannot use them without hurting myself." Some of the excitement dropped from his face. "I think he is starting to give up.

_The ability is still there,_ he thought. _Alley to the right. Carve open his head, take the power. So convenient, not having to walk and drive everywhere looking like a righteous and dead politician._

That part of his brain continued to encourage him to murder the other man, but he did his best to block out that urge. He gave Hiro a tight smile and mumbled something that might have sounded like encouragement while he tried to give himself reasons not to kill him.

_Too easy to kill someone who's already powerless. Not even sure if his ability will help me or cause my other abilities to malfunction like his are. And she won't let you go on killing people forever. Anyway, I can understand him way too well. _The thought of Claire gave him pause, but it was the last reason that really stopped him. He'd been in a similar situation, so he could empathize. He'd been so powerful, so _special,_ only to suddenly have it all taken away from him, left to wander, trying to discover a way to get his powers back. He'd even ended up going to Suresh, just like Hiro did...

Sylar felt it the instant the power surged through him. _Empathy._ Of course.

Hiro seemed to sense that his mind was elsewhere. "Sorry, but I am late. I must go." His face fell again at the idea of being late, and he started to go, but Sylar stopped him.

"Wait, Hiro...your powers aren't gone. They're just inaccessible. Tell Suresh that he should look for a change in..." He almost blurted out exactly which part of Hiro's brain housed his power, but he stopped himself just in time. The information he was sharing already might give him away. "...Whatever part of your brain your powers come from. Like extra insulation on a wire."

Hiro's grin reappeared. "Thank you, Nathan! I will tell Dr. Suresh that at once!" He nodded his head once more in parting, then ran down the street.

Empathy. It was so much easier for Sylar to cut heads open. Once he understood the brain, he understood the ability, and it became his. But there was another way. It had only ever worked with Elle before. Understanding the person made him understand the brain, which, in turn, gave him the ability. It was an extra step, and so much more difficult. Peter, when his powers had been fully functional, would have had an easy time of it. He could empathize with anyone from Charles Manson to the kid in _Little Miss Sunshine_ if he wanted to, the lucky little bastard. For Sylar, it was harder.

He ducked into the alley he'd just considered killing Hiro in, then teleported into a dressing room in a department store. From there, he used Nathan's credit cards to buy enough clothes to last him a few days. Not a single suit. The only reason for him to wear a suit would be if he was in Nathan's life, and in that case, Nathan had more than enough suits to last into the next millennium. He also bought a pair of black Converse, and left Nathan's shoes by a trash can.

Once he had enough to weigh him down considerably, he went back to the office and called the real estate agent, Estelle. He asked her for the listings of available furnished lofts in the city, though he realized with a small thrill of excitement down his spine that he didn't exactly need to be close to the office to make appearances there anymore. After several minutes of small talk, and her typing in the background, she listed off six lofts that he might enjoy. He told her he'd take the virtual tours online and call her back with an answer.

Of course, he actually just flashed from one loft to the next. He didn't like anything he saw until he got to the fifth place. It was sleek and modern, located in a building made of brick and glass. It had an open feeling that he definitely appreciated, after being trapped for so long. He didn't bother with the last loft. He just called Estelle and told her that he wanted this one, and to have the paperwork to him by the end of the day. If she thought his behavior was odd, she didn't comment and he figured, for the commission she was probably getting, she wasn't likely to speculate on why he needed a new place so immediately.

At least there were a few benefits to being Nathan Petrelli.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

Buried

Chapter Four

That night, Claire went to bed early. She made her excuses to Peter and felt horrible for lying to him, but until she could figure out what to do, she couldn't tell him the truth. She laid down on top of her covers, only bothering to kick her shoes off first, and stared at the ceiling.

She hated being lied to so much. She knew they only did it to protect her, but still, she was constantly surrounded by lies. How was she supposed to know what the truth was when finding it was so rare? Every time she was _sure_ something was the truth, she had the rug pulled out from under her. On the few occasions where the truth had actually managed to stay the truth, she felt like there should be a parade involved to celebrate.

With a sudden fierce pain that was almost physical, maybe even would have been if she could feel physical pain, Claire found herself missing Zach with an intensity she hadn't felt in months. Phantom pain. Could it be that he was the only person besides Sylar who had never lied to her? How pathetic. But he'd accepted her, even when he had every reason to turn his back on her, or even shout what she could do from the school quad. When she thought of the way she treated him, when she started valuing quantity over quality in her friends, she felt like she might be sick. But he was her friend again when she needed him. Her best friend, maybe ever.

_Where is he now? _She wondered. _How would he react to all this insanity?_ He'd be worried, she knew. Not that she was crazy or that she was being too accepting of her fate, but that she might get hurt. She could just hear his voice in her head. _"God, Claire, what are you thinking? Being immortal isn't cool anymore so you go and hook up with a guy who's already tried to kill you? Oh, and he's one of the few who might have a shot at succeeding? That's great, Claire. Just great."_

But she also knew, given a couple of weeks, Zach would have accepted the situation. He'd do it for her. He would never make her choose between him and anyone else. And the thought of killing Sylar to prevent her from making a choice he viewed as wrong would never even enter his head, unlike the rest of her family.

Then there was her mom. She hated the idea of lying to her. Sandra Bennet had been lied to even more than Claire had. And what she wouldn't give to have a normal conversation about a boy with her mother. She'd talked to her mom about Brody before all of the insanity had started. Of course, Brody turned out to be the first one to kill her, but she missed talking to her mom about things that didn't matter. If Brody had been a normal boy, and she a normal girl, then whether or not they ever dated would have made no difference, in the big picture. She can't remember the last time she talked to her mother about something inconsequential. Maybe she could tell her mom a few things about the situation, keeping Sylar's name out of it, but there would be no way to keep the information from her father, and the last thing she wanted was for him to know.

The more she thought about Noah, the angrier she got. Her rage had progressed more and more in the five weeks since figuring out that Nathan wasn't Nathan, and it had quickly grown to the point where she hadn't answered his calls in three weeks. Even before his latest adventure of putting the wolf in sheep's clothing, he'd done so much, most of it in the name of "protecting her," that disgusted her, and the memories flickered through her mind again, despite her efforts to repress them.

The memory that always came first when she ran over her father's crimes in her head wasn't his first, but it was the first she'd never fully forgiven him for. Stephen Canfield. He had been a good man in a horrible situation with an ability he didn't know how to control. Her father had taken everything from him on company orders, then put a gun to his head and demanded that he kill Sylar. Right after Sylar had saved her life, while he was trying to be a good person. And while she was begging him to stop. His failure to turn a good man into a killer had led to that same good man's suicide.

Then she had been dying. She was terrified and dying and her father was nowhere to be found. No matter how she twisted it in her head, she couldn't make herself believe that his hunting down Sylar instead of being with her was actually for her, as he so vehemently insisted. After all, Sylar hadn't even been the one to shoot her. Noah had gone after Sylar for himself, not for her, because hunting down the bogeyman was easier for him than facing her mortality.

And somehow, worst of all, was that horrible night in the desert. Her father had held a gun on Peter, her best friend since Zach, her _hero,_ and had nearly killed him. She'd seen it in his eyes. He'd been both ready and willing to pull the trigger, would have if she wasn't there, and would have lied to her about it later. There was a lot she was furious at him about, but that topped everything else. Peter was a force of good, had never been anything _but _a force of good in her eyes. She could understand his trying to kill Sylar, in a way. She didn't like it, but in a world with clearly defined roles, Sylar was evil, and Peter was good. How could he even think of killing Peter?

That brought her thoughts around to how Peter would react. She'd seen Peter forgive all manner of people for a variety of horrible things. She thought, after Sylar had saved his life, that maybe Peter would have eventually come to forgive Sylar as well. Even if he hadn't, he would have eventually forgiven her for going to Sylar, for feeling a connection with him. He'd think she was absolutely insane, but he wouldn't judge her for it. But then Sylar killed Nathan, and all that changed. If Peter knew, there'd be no forgiveness, just him trying to kill Sylar and Sylar trying _not _to kill him, until he got sick of that and forgot his promise.

Claire's cell phone rang and startled her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was her father. She glared at the phone for a moment and then set it on her nightstand. A minute after it stopped ringing, another tone sounded to notify her of a new voicemail. Another two minutes passed, and the phone rang again.

She snatched it off the nightstand and flipped it open. "If I wanted to talk to you, I would have picked up the phone the first time!"

"You did," Sylar responded, sounding surprised.

She grimaced. "Sorry, I thought you were my...someone else." She paused, then asked, "How did you get this number?"

"I can get memories from any object I touch. This phone remembers calling you." She could hear his smile in his voice. "Also, your number is programmed in it, but it sounds much more interesting the other way."

Claire didn't want to be so amused by him, but she found herself laughing anyway, even though she gathered that such a skill was what told him what to say to prove he was Nathan, after he touched her necklace. "So what's going on? Did you find a place?"

"Yes, I did and I think you'll love it. Also, clothes, shoes, and everything else I might need anytime soon. In fact, I did so much shopping today I felt a little like a teenage girl."

"What, you needed some more insight into my head?" Claire asked. The words were teasing and her tone was light, but she thought of the last time Sylar had needed to see inside her head, and some of his words echoed. _Why is there evil? How do we make love stay?_

"Claire, you are hardly the average teenage girl, and even if you were, I'd resort to direct questions before I'd try retail therapy to figure you out." He paused, and then said, "That's sort of why I'm calling, actually."

"To figure me out?" she asked, confused.

"Not exactly. I'm bored. And I realized that, apart from the big things, I really don't know very much about you. None of the little details that make up your average dating show. So I called. Are you busy?"

"No, I was just laying in bed contemplating this situation we're in." _Good job, Claire. Tell the deranged sociopath who you know wants you that you're in bed. Do you want to tell him what you're wearing too? _"What do you want to know?"

After a long pause, Sylar asked, "What's your favorite color?"

"Green," she answered immediately, too shocked to ponder how out there his question was.

"Green...I wouldn't have guessed. You don't wear very much of it."

"It's hard to find green clothes that compliment my skin tone," she replied. "What's yours?"

"Blue."

The conversation went on like that for over an hour. Claire and Sylar learned as many of the little things about each other that they could, and completely avoided subjects that might cause pain or that might be better suited for their face to face conversation the next day. After colors, they'd gone on to favorite movies, books, flowers, foods, stores, places they'd been, and what they'd wanted to be as children.

They weren't friends yet, and if they were going to be anything more, there was still a lot of work to do, but both of them recognized that they had started something. Their own personal construction project.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

**Author's Note:** So sorry this took so long! My real life has been seriously kicking my ass these past two weeks.

**Author's Note 2:** Okay, so this story was actually inspired by two separate dreams I had. One of the scenes I dreamed is in this chapter. I'll let you know which one at the end.

Buried

Chapter Six

As Claire got ready for her dinner with Sylar, she had not one, but several small scale panic attacks. The first came when she thought about the event itself and didn't know what to call it. Was it a meeting? A casual conversation over food? A – she had to force herself to think the word – date? After pacing around the room for several minutes, she decided to think of it as a dinner.

The next and worst panic attack came when she tried to figure out what to wear. Her initial thought was to go in old sweats, just to prove that she wasn't at all concerned about this...dinner. But she hadn't brought any from home, and she thought the staff of the restaurant might disapprove anyway. Next, she wanted to go with a green sweater and black slacks, but the night was a little too warm for the sweater. A red tank top was tried on and tossed away seconds later. She finally settled on a simple sky blue blouse and those same black slacks, and almost changed again when she remembered his favorite color was blue. But as it was, she'd already be doing her makeup in the cab, so to change again would make her late. She was stuck with this outfit.

The last panic attack came in the taxi. That's when all the really hard questions struck her. The attack was only less paralyzing than the clothing issue because she was too distracted to focus fully on her problems. _Why am I even thinking about doing this? Will he stop killing people? In a hundred years, will that even matter to me anymore, or will I be so lonely that I'll be willing to look the other way? Does he really want me, or is this just another game? Do I even _want _him to want me? Can I trust him? Can I trust _me?

When she entered the tiny Italian restaurant, she hoped she looked composed enough to cover up the inner turmoil Sylar was already there, thankfully wearing his own face. The restaurant was out of the way of most foot traffic, located on a small side street that was really little more than an alley. However, she'd heard that their food was heavenly, so despite its inconvenient location, it usually stayed fairly busy, even hosting the occasional politician or celebrity, and tonight, it looked very active.

She spotted him as soon as she walked in, so she walked straight to his table, waving off the hostess. His eyes swept over her and a small smile touched his lips. "Hello, Claire. How are you?"

"Fine," she answered. "You?"

Sylar felt the tingle that alerted him to a lie. He waited for her to sit, then said, "Claire, you've been honest with me thus far, so I think you've earned fair warning. I can tell when I'm hearing a lie, so don't bother."

"You'd rather hear me tell you that I feel like I'm going crazy then?" she asked.

He considered for a moment, then answered. "Yes. How am I supposed to assure you that you're perfectly sane if I don't know that you think you're losing it?"

And with that, negotiations had started. Claire knew that whatever agreement they managed to work out would be thorny and convoluted, but they had to start somewhere. "Okay then. What's the first order of business?"

Sylar immediately thought of one of the few questions he might not want to know the answer to and asked it. "Why are you doing this, Claire?"

"Doing what?" she asked, though she was fairly sure she knew what he was talking about.

"Toying with this idea. You hate me, you said it yourself. You don't want to be alone forever, but you're a smart girl. If it got that bad, you'd be able to shut yourself down. You feel betrayed by Noah and Angela, but there are still people in your family that you love. I must be...anathema to you...and if you chose me, those people you love would hold it against you for the rest of their lives. I'm trying to understand why you would even consider it."

Before she could answer, the waitress came for their drink orders. Claire glanced at her menu to figure out what kind of sodas they had, while Sylar ordered himself a root beer. She looked up a moment later and asked for a Sprite. The waitress nodded and disappeared again. Claire remained quiet.

Sylar couldn't take that for more than a few minutes, and finally prodded her. "Well?"

"I just feel so..." She looked into his eyes, hoping the right word would come to her. "So lost, I guess. When the people who are supposed to be the good guys do things that are so clearly in the wrong, and then I end up feeling like I'm in the same corner as a deranged sociopath – no offense – it just completely skews my universe. And maybe that's opened my mind a little more. As for the people I love...well, Noah and Angela don't get a say, not anymore, after what they did. My mom would forgive me for anything, probably, so long as I'm happy. Lyle doesn't care if the family's not in danger, and Peter..." She looked down and studied the way her napkin was folded. "I won't lie. I'll miss Peter a lot."

"He won't ever forgive me, you know," he told her quietly. "There was a time not too long ago when he might have been able to, but after Nathan..."

"I know," she said. "And while we're on the subject..." She leaned forward and looked around, making sure no one was listening to her next words. "Are you going to keep killing people? Because I'm not really big on condoning that sort of thing."

Sylar's trademark smirk came to his face instantly. "Have you read _Moby Dick_, Claire?"

Though that seemed violently off topic to her, she answered, "No. I saw the movie though."

"Okay, so you know...the basic idea of the story." His words made it clear that he didn't hold a lot of faith in any movie made from a book, which made Claire smile. "What do you think Captain Ahab would have done if he'd killed Moby Dick, his great white whale, and managed to live to tell the tale?" Going off of her blank look, he clarified, "Do you think he would have kept hunting the other whales, or would he just retire and tell all the other old people the tale every chance he got, whipping out old pictures for proof when they didn't believe him?"

Claire finally got his analogy. "Sylar, are you telling me that I'm your white whale?"

The smirk grew to a full smile. "Yes, Claire, you are my white whale."

"Is that a comment about my weight?" she shot back instantly, and he laughed loudly. "And you didn't really answer my question. What do _you_ think Captain Ahab would do?"

His smile faded and he studied her for a long while before answering. "I think Ahab would be tired after so long on the hunt. But I also think that, after a few months of relative peace, he'd start missing the ocean and the whaling business." Just as Claire was about to open her mouth to tell him, again, that he had yet to answer her question, he held up a hand. "My answer is that I don't know, Claire. That I could be convinced to try, but fighting these urges I have is an uphill battle, and by uphill, I'm referring to Mount Everest."

Their drinks came then, and Claire once again frantically studied the menu while Sylar, who'd had time to choose what he wanted before she got there, ordered the steak gorgonzola alfredo. By the time he'd ordered, she'd decided on the manicotti, and the waitress left to go put in their orders.

"Okay, I'm gonna shoot one of your own questions back at you," Claire said once she was sure the waitress was out of hearing range. "Why are you doing this? Why try? I mean, I think the Sylar from the hotel a few months back would have been perfectly happy to continue on his road trip across America, gathering powers and, I don't know, taking candy from babies and beating old ladies with their walkers or something. What changed?"

Sylar snorted at the imagery her words presented in his head. "That's simple. I spent several months believing I was a man who, despite several misguided actions and morally gray motives, genuinely loved the people around him. You, Peter, Angela, his kids, some of the others with abilities that he'd gotten close to. All of that is still buzzing around in my head, and shutting it off is not proving to be as easy as I'd like. It makes me wonder..." He trailed off and gave no inclination that he intended to finish his sentence.

"Wonder what?" Claire prodded, fascinated despite herself.

"If there's something in this world for me besides blood and death. If I'm capable of not bringing horror and pain into every life I touch. I don't want to be normal or anything, but...I'm investigating my options, I suppose."

"I can accept that," she said quietly. "How do I keep seeing you?"

Sylar had tossed around a few ideas the day before. He started with the most promising. "You said my secretary wasn't doing such a wonderful job of filtering my calls? I could fire her and hire you. I'd get to see you, and spend most of my time in my own skin. I have a feeling you're more than capable of stopping anyone from getting into that office before I have a chance to shift back. And it would give you some spare money of your own, separate from the Petrellis."

"That sounds like a good idea," she agreed. "I can only do it part-time though. I have college classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

That hadn't come up in their conversation the night before, but Sylar was still only mildly surprised. Like he said, she was smart. "Yeah? Which school?"

"Georgetown. Majoring in neurobiology."

Sylar raised an eyebrow at her. "Impressive. Three days a week then? I'm sure there's someone out there more than willing to take the other two."

She smiled. "Sounds good."

He argued with himself for a moment, then sighed and pulled out a card with a key attached to it. On the card, he'd scribbled the address of his new loft. He hesitated again, then slid it across the table.

Claire picked it up. "What's this?"

"In case you need to get away. If you're staying at Peter's, there's no way to avoid Angela. So if you just need somewhere to hide out from whoever or...just, anytime you'd rather be there than at Peter's...it's always open to you. There's an extra room and more than enough space."

She could see how hard that was for him. He was rarely so unsure of himself. So she took the items, separated the card and put it into her wallet before slipping the key into place on her keyring. "Thank you."

The food came then, and any meaningful conversation was set aside in favor of delicious Italian food. They made small talk about her school and the political situation, which Sylar was still catching up on. Eventually, the check came, which he grabbed before she could say anything, and Claire excused herself to use the restroom. Sylar was left to ponder the life he found himself living while he threw some cash onto the tray with the check.

In truth, he had never doubted that Claire would eventually come around to his way of thinking. He just figured it might take two or three hundred years before she would even begin to soften towards him. Of course, he couldn't have predicted that Angela and Noah would manage to turn her against them so completely as to practically throw her into his arms.

Almost as if the thought of her had prompted her appearance, Angela rounded the corner with Peter. The restaurant could really be their only possible destination. Sylar had to think quickly. Her head was turned toward her son, so he had a moment to make his escape. He headed toward the bathroom and caught Claire just as she was coming out. He covered her mouth and pushed her back in, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and then teleported them back to his loft.

___________

**Author's Note: **The scene that I dreamed that inspired this story? The _Moby Dick _reference, ending in "Is that a comment about my weight?" which is something of a running joke among my friends.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

**Author's Note:** Okay, there definitely is not going to be another chapter until after the 12th. I'm going to San Francisco for my birthday and to film my friend's webseries, and my access to the internet will be extremely limited. However, hopefully, I'll be able to write some chapters while I'm up there, you know, the old fashioned way with pens and notebooks and cramps in my hands, so I can type them up and release them the instant I get back.

Buried

Chapter Seven

The instant they rematerialized in his loft, Sylar began cursing himself at himself in a language Claire thought might be Latin, from what she'd heard in movies, but she couldn't translate it. He released her immediately and began pacing back and forth, while her brain very slowly caught up to what their mode of travel had to mean.

"Filius vilis meretricis quod a monachus! Quam unus non animadverto is propinquo? Unus est summitto, plurimus inconcinnus creatura umquam respiro!" After this rant, which left Claire more confused than she already was, he switched to English. "Damn it, I should have anticipated Angela suspecting something! Her visions are puzzles and riddles more than straightforward guides, but I should have known she'd have inklings."

"Did we just teleport?" she asked blankly.

"Yes, Angela showed up with Peter and I had to get us out as quickly as possible. I'm almost sure neither of them saw me..."

"Hiro?" This came out in a very small voice.

He barely noticed her tone, too distracted by his own thoughts. "Ran into him yesterday. Great timing, right?"

Finally, everything came together in a crystal clear picture in Claire's head. He'd killed Hiro. He'd just told her he'd try to stop killing, but he'd killed Hiro just yesterday, probably without a thought as to how she'd react...and if he did have a thought about it, he'd clearly pushed it aside in favor of such a tantalizing ability. _So much for me being his white whale. Poor Hiro._ With his abilities not working the way they should, he never stood a chance.

Before she could even think to stop it, to weigh the benefits of yelling at him against the dangers of being alone with him in an unfamiliar place, she unleashed on him, letting all her fears pour out of her mouth. "How could you?" she yelled. "His powers weren't functioning; he couldn't even defend himself!"

Sylar had stopped pacing and was now staring at her curiously, his head tilted to the side, like he was confused by her outburst. His refusal to understand her anger only fueled it, and now she started pacing the same ground he'd let up on. "Claire, what..."

She cut him off before he could finish. "And don't even try to tell me that you didn't say you'd stop killing until tonight. We talked yesterday and I said I was willing to give it a try, and what, you didn't think that maybe I'd have a problem with you killing innocent people for their abilities? You know it's like genocide, right? Killing people for something they're born with."

He saw now where her brain had gone, and he couldn't blame her for assuming what she did, but he had to stop her rant before her imagination got the better of her. "I didn't..."

"I can't believe I was even considering this! What is _wrong_ with me, anyway?" Claire's volume had come down to a normal speaking level, but the venom in her words remained. As she talked, she looked out the window, trying to ascertain a location. After all, for all she knew, he'd teleported her to Guam. But the skyline was clearly that of Washington D.C., so at least she knew she could catch a cab back to Peter's once she left. She continued, not even having paused for that thought. "You're never really going to change and we both know it. But hey, apparently I killed Peter in the future, so maybe there is a time for us, once I'm evil and think as little of human life as you do. But until that day comes..."

"Claire..." This was starting to irritate him, mostly because the tingle wasn't coming to him, which meant she believed every word she was saying, no matter how untrue it was. If she continued for much longer, he was going to lose control, and he had a feeling that wouldn't endear him to her. "You need to..."

"Until that day comes," she said again, louder, speaking over him, "it's probably best that we stay away from each other. Go be Nathan if you want. I don't care and I won't tell. But so help me, if you come near me or try to hurt my family..."

That was it. The tight control Sylar was trying very hard to keep over his abilities finally snapped. Hadn't he promised not to hurt them? Didn't she know that he'd keep his word to her, even if she did back out of this? Instinctively, his hand shot out, Claire's air cut off, and she froze in place. He quickly eased up a bit, allowing her enough to breathe very shallowly, so she wouldn't pass out on him, but not enough to continue on her misinformed tirade. He met her eyes. "I was trying very hard not to do this to you, but you wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise. So I'm sorry I had to do this, but we can't have an adult conversation if you won't shut up every once in a while. Now, listen carefully. I haven't killed anyone since remembering who I am. Hiro Nakamura is alive and well, and I even sent him on his way with some information that might help him restore his abilities. Now, I'm going to let you go, and I'll explain and answer your questions, but try to remember that I haven't done anything wrong." He smiled grimly and then added, "Recently." He dropped his hand and Claire took a deep breath.

"If you didn't kill him, how do you have his ability?" she asked quietly, rubbing at her throat. Though she couldn't feel any pain, she had noticed that, when something should hurt her, before it quickly healed, it felt numb, like she'd been given a local anesthetic. Her throat didn't hurt, of course, but it also didn't have that numbness that told her that it _should _hurt. He'd been gentle with her.

"I have empathy. I didn't know about it until I met Arthur Petrelli. It's sort of like Peter's ability, with a few essential differences."

"Differences like what?"

"He can mimic any ability he encounters. At least, he can when he's at his full potential. But the abilities he mimics are never really his, never really a part of him, even the subconscious abilities, like the healing. It's not as easy for me, but the...rewards, I guess you could call them, are greater. I can't just see it and then do it, like he can. I have to _understand_ the person to gain their ability, like I have to understand their brain if I go with...the other method. It's not easy. Emotions and experiences cloud the process, but I get to keep the ability. It becomes mine just as much as the intuitive aptitude is. The point is, I empathized with Hiro and he's fine." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Though apparently _you _have more issues we should discuss."

Claire's mind was spinning, but there was one clear thought in all the madness. "So...if Peter ever gets his powers fixed and gets to use my power again...he'll still die of old age someday, if he lives that long?"

Sylar could see how much that hurt her and he felt an unreasonable bolt of jealousy go through him. But he fought it off. Peter was her haven, and if she chose the way he wanted her to choose, she'd lose that haven forever. "Yes. He's not immortal, Claire, not like us, and he never has been."

"But when..." she almost said 'when you killed him,' but she had tossed enough blame at him, so she rethought her next words. "When he had that glass shard stuck in the back of his head, I pulled it out and he healed. If my ability is that ingrained in him, shouldn't it keep him alive forever?"

"I'd have to get close enough to empathize to be absolutely sure, and you know how badly that could turn out, but I'm nearly positive that, the way your ability works in him, it only reacts to unnatural injuries. His life span will probably be longer than most, since he'll have no injuries to contend with, but he won't live forever, if I'm right. Our entire body chemistry is different, making something natural like aging seem unnatural in our bodies."

Well, that certainly gave her a lot to think about. Claire had always hoped that, eventually, Peter's powers would be miraculously restored and he would use her power to live forever too. So even if it took him a thousand years to forgive her for this betrayal, he _would _forgive her, someday. But now she had what was most likely the truth: her uncle and best friend would die and she would be utterly alone...unless she turned to Sylar. "I have to go," she muttered, heading for the door.

"Claire, don't leave angry."

"I'm not angry," she told him. Looking back at him, she added, "I just need to think. I'll see you at the office in a couple days, okay? As Nathan's secretary, do I have a dress code?"

Sylar shrugged. "Wear what you want. I don't care." He made sure to meet her eyes. "You know you can call me if you need to talk, right?"

"Of course." She smiled a little. "See you later, Sylar." She walked as calmly as she could to the door, but once she had shut it behind her, she raced as fast as she could down the stairs, bypassing the elevator so she wouldn't have to stand still. She needed to see Peter as soon as she could.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

**Author's Note:** So I've been agonizing over this chapter for days, and I just know the next few chapters are going to include even more agonizing and second guessing myself. So feedback and letting me know I'm doing well would be just AWESOME. Also, the more I write this story, the angrier I get at Noah and Angela....luckily, reflecting that in here isn't necessarily a bad thing, given the givens.

Buried

Chapter Eight

Claire paced back and forth in Peter's apartment. It had become very close to home for her, though most of her things remained at her parents' house. She had gone without her favorite top for months now, simply because she didn't want to see Noah. She felt like she was sacrificing her relationship with her mother and brother, but she couldn't be around that man. She still talked to her mom often, so she knew that, even though Noah had moved out, he dropped by frequently. She couldn't risk running into him. So she made due with the clothes she had, and did laundry often.

Peter wasn't home yet. He was probably still out to dinner with Angela. And her dinner with Sylar had been going so well.

She needed to talk to him. She didn't know what she would say yet, but she was toying with the idea of telling him the truth. If she could just make sure he wouldn't go after Sylar, at least she could get him started on forgiving her, so maybe he could finish before he died.

But she knew how much he loved Nathan, how much he'd looked up to him, before all the betrayal and manipulation started. Maybe all of the shit that had passed between them would lessen Peter's pain, but even if that were the case, it wouldn't be nearly enough to prevent retaliation.

She also thought about telling Sylar that she needed more time. That whatever they had started could wait the sixty or seventy years until Peter died. That might have worked, if she hadn't already set things in motion. She had a feeling that Sylar would have been happy to wait. They were eternal, after all, so what was one lifetime in comparison to that? But she'd been so scared of being alone. And now, if she put off their progress to avoid Peter's judgment, Sylar would never forget it.

She realized then that she couldn't really think in the here and now anymore. Most of her thoughts lately had been of the metaphoric big picture. She couldn't make Peter happy now, not when she knew it would taint the rest of her eternal life. In all of her eighteen years, she'd never felt so self-serving, but she couldn't let that stop her.

Claire heard Peter's key turn in the lock. She was out of time to make up her mind.

When Peter walked in, he took one look at Claire's face and knew something was horribly wrong. "Claire?" He rushed to her and put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "What is it? What happened?"

She couldn't tell him the truth. That wouldn't end well for anyone, not yet. But she couldn't lie to him either. "I'm so sorry, Peter."

Worry flashed across his face. He led her to the couch and they sat down. "Tell me, Claire. I'm sure whatever it is, we can work it out."

That nearly made her cry. He would die hating her, and nothing could ever make that okay. "I can't tell you everything yet, but I can say a few things." She took a deep breath. "I don't know when, but probably sooner than I'd like, it's going to seem like I betrayed you. I don't think you'll ever forgive me, but I just wanted to tell you that the future you saw, the one where I killed you? That will _never _happen. No matter what happens, I will never get to the point where I would take your life away. I love you, Peter. You're my best friend, but...I can't sacrifice my well-being for _eternity_ to keep you from hating me."

Peter stared at her, his eyes wide. She brushed his hair out of his face. "You'll think I've gone evil or crazy. It'll seem like a betrayal, to you, to myself, and to everything we've fought for. But even if you hate me for it, I'll love you forever." Before he could ask her any questions, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.

"I understand that you need to make your own decisions, even if they go against what I would choose for you. But the way you're acting...is the world at stake here, Claire? Because if what you're talking about puts the world in danger, then you know I'll have to stop you. Even though I love you too, and I want you to be happy, I can't just let you do something that will endanger us all."

"No, it's nothing like that." She pulled away from him and wiped at her eyes. "Actually, it might save a lot of lives. But that's not why I'm doing it," she told him honestly. "I wish I could say that was my intention, but...it's really just me being selfish."

"How could I hate you for something that will save lives?" Peter asked.

Claire shook her head. "I can't tell you that yet. It's all too new. But you can and you will."

Sylar was unsure what to do. In all the movies he'd seen, when the heroine storms out in a rage and tells the hero to stay away from her, she really wanted him to follow her, and would inevitably fly into more of a tantrum if he didn't. But Claire hadn't been angry anymore, and Sylar definitely wasn't the hero of this piece. So did he follow her or let her cool off?

He decided on the latter. Chasing after her would set a bad precedent, and one of the last things he needed was to get started on a habit that might stick around for a couple hundred years.

He tried to settle his mind on the Angela issue. He was sure that she didn't have any definitive information yet. If she already knew that he wasn't her son anymore, she would have made some sort of move against him. Though she had to know that incapacitating him again wouldn't be nearly as easy as the first time, she would have done something. Matt Parkman would be beating down the door and trying to mindfuck him. _Again._

The idea nearly made him ill. He hated all of them, Angela, Noah, and Parkman, for what they did to him. They showed him that there really was something worse than death. To lose his identity completely, forced to live out the life of a man he killed. If they tried to force his mind back into that, he would take them down in the quickest way possible. Torturing them sounded fun, but they were a slippery bunch. If he kept them alive to torture them, they'd probably escape somehow, and then he'd have more revenge schemes to deal with. No...if they came for him, they would have to be killed, regardless of his promise to Claire. He wanted so much to keep his word, but he couldn't be responsible for what might happen if he had to act in self-defense.

On the plus side, Sylar was almost sure that, if they miraculously succeeded again, and were stupid enough to try the same trick twice, Claire wouldn't let him be Nathan for too long. She hated the lie almost as much as he did. It was one of the multitude of reasons he was so fascinated with her.

He shook his head and refocused on the matriarch of the Petrelli clan. The problem with Angela's visions of the future was that he wasn't sure what to do to throw her off. Being the perfect son might help, might even make her doubt her prophetic dreams, but he was still far too angry. He couldn't be the perfect son when all he wanted to do was rip off the top of her head, figure out how her ability worked, and then burn the body.

The ringing of his cell phone brought him out of his thoughts. He could tell by the ringtone that it wasn't Claire. Hers was the only one he knew because, in an act she'd throttle him for if she knew about it, he'd switched her ringtone to Aqua's "Barbie Girl." Sure, the song was an assault to his ears and his brain, but just imagining the look on her face if she knew was enough to put him in a good mood. Besides, all of Nathan's pre-set ringtones had been boring, including the one that was sounding off now.

He looked at the caller ID. It was Peter. With a sigh, Sylar shifted back into the body and therefore voice of Nathan Petrelli, then flipped open his phone and put it to his ear. "Hey Pete, what's up?"

"Hi Nathan...hey, have you talked to Claire lately?"

Peter's voice was worried, and that sparked Sylar's worry. Had Claire not made it home? Where could she be? Even though she couldn't die, there were a million other things that could be done to a pretty girl in this city. "Yeah, a couple hours ago. Why? Is she okay?"

Silence stretched over the line as Peter hesitated. "Well, yeah, I guess. She was just saying some stuff that worried me, that's all. I was wondering if she'd talked to you about it too, or if you knew anything about it. I know you two have been getting pretty close lately."

Thoughts of betrayal flashed through Sylar's head, but he quickly brushed them aside. If she was going to trust that he wouldn't go on a killing spree with several key members of her family on the very top of his list, then he would have to trust that she wouldn't tell Peter every last detail of the past few days at her first opportunity. "What kind of stuff?"

"She was talking about her future...saying that she had to make a choice soon to ensure her future happiness."

"Well, she's going to live forever, Pete, and that's a long time to be miserable. It's good that she's thinking ahead," Sylar replied, trying to keep his voice light and unconcerned.

Peter searched for the right words to make his brother understand his concern. He paused often, but forged ahead until he was sure he'd gotten his point across. "It's just that...she was saying that I would hate her for whatever she's going to do. Nathan...I can't think of a single thing that would make me hate Claire. In that horrible future, she _killed _future me, and I didn't hate her...and neither did the future version of me; I'm almost sure of it. What could Claire possibly do that would be so horrible that I'd never forgive her for it? She even said it would save lives, so that's a good thing, right? I don't understand, and she won't tell me."

Sylar was startled by the realization that he didn't want Claire to lose Peter. Compared to their lives, Peter's would be horribly short, so she only had a very limited amount of time with him. But it was not in his nature to be self-sacrificing. He had no intention of letting her go until Peter died.

So the only solution was to come to a truce with him. He knew that would be the best gift he could ever give to Claire: Peter's continuing friendship for the remaining years of his life. It seemed that she had already written such a thing off as impossible, but a few months ago, she'd thought being on friendly terms with him would be impossible too. Even though she'd gotten to the point where too much betrayal had forced her perspective to change, she didn't imagine such a thing could happen to Peter too. Sylar knew better. Everyone had their limits, and he thought Peter might be reaching his. There was a time...it seemed like several lifetimes ago, but was, in reality, less than a year, when there was a dim glimmer of hope that he and Peter could have been friends. That was gone now, probably forever, buried with the body of Nathan Petrelli.

But maybe Peter could learn to tolerate him. He didn't even need that. He just needed Peter to not try to kill him, and to accept Claire's decision. And there was always the extremely slim possibility that, like Claire, he would be more angered at the actions of Angela and Noah than he was at Sylar for setting things in motion by killing Nathan. He wasn't counting on the likelihood of that one. _But, _he thought, _by all accounts,_ _hope springs eternal._

"Nathan!" Peter was yelling into the phone. He'd apparently been trying to get his attention for some time. Sylar had drifted into his own thoughts and had left his side of the conversation hanging. He'd have to be careful about that, or Peter would sense something was wrong.

"Sorry. I was just thinking about what Claire might be up to. Tell you what, I'll talk to her in a couple of days and try to see where her head is at. Maybe we can all do lunch next week?"

"Yeah, sure. Keep me updated, okay? I'm really worried about her."

"Of course. Talk to you soon, Peter." He hung up.

Sylar's mind raced over the possibilities. So many conditions had to be met for such a plan to even have a chance of working. Peter would have to know he was Sylar, and he would have to accept that Claire was with him, in whatever capacity they managed in his lifetime.

He was rather glad that Peter was no longer able to turn into a nuclear bomb. Because if anything would have made him explode, it would be this.


End file.
